**Diary Entry**
The day James walked out, he carried only a gym baglike he was popping to the gym, not ending a decade of marriage. At least, Id thought it was stable.
No point leaving the keys, he said, shrugging. His tone was casual, as if discussing the weather.
I swallowed the icy knot in my throat. What do you mean, no point? My voice stayed steady.
The flats covering the debts, Emily. *Our* debts.
As if it were nothing. As if this wasnt the home wed built, where every teacup and book held memories.
*Your* debts, I corrected. That absurd crypto schemeI begged you not to. I showed you the numbers. It was a bubble.
And who celebrated when the first profits rolled in? He smirked. That smirk cut deeper than anger ever could.
We went to the Maldives with that money. So the debts are ours too. Fairs fair.
He tossed a thick folder onto the table. Papers scattered, burying the napkin holder wed bought in Brighton on our honeymoon.
All the paperwork. Loans, liens. Solicitors say youve got a week to move out before the bailiffs come.
No tears. Just quiet, simmering contempt.
A *week*?
Im giving you freedom, he said, adjusting the cufflinks Id gifted him last birthday. Met someone else. With her, I can *breathe*. With you suffocating. Always your spreadsheets, your plans. Dull, Em.
He didnt mention she was twenty-two, the daughter of the investor hed been desperate to impress. Or that his business was crumbling, and this marriage was his last lifeline.
Right, I said, nudging the papers aside. Leave.
No theatrics? He almost looked disappointed. Hed braced for tears, for a sceneneeded my weakness to justify his cruelty.
Theatrics are for those who can afford them. I held his gaze. Go. And dont ever come back.
The door clicked shut. Silence. The kitchen was a graveyard of paperwork. I watched from the window as his cab disappeared, then called my brother.
Tom, I need help. No, not trouble. A fresh start.
Tom arrived in forty minutes. He sifted through the documents, jaw tight. He planned this. Half the loans are in your name; the rest, youre guarantor. Legally, youre sinking together.
I trusted him.
Trust doesnt excuse idiocy, he snapped, then sighed. Fine. Whats this fresh start?
I opened my laptop. The screen glowed with a presentation: *Green Canopyvertical farming systems.*
Tom scanned it. This is?
The hobby James mocked. While he played tycoon, I patented tech that cuts energy costs by 30%. Ive got everything but capital.
He closed the laptop. Ill invest. Not a loan30% stake. First, hire a solicitor. My contacts. Youll only deal with James through them. Understood?
Understood.
Three days later, in a cramped rented office, my solicitor began bankruptcy proceedings to shield future assets. James called. I declined. His text followed: *Dont be daft. Need you to sign a few more things.*
I forwarded it to the solicitor. The reply was swift: *Another loan scam. No signatures without me.*
I blocked him. That night, unpacking boxes, I found our wedding album. Two smiling faces. Hed only ever seen a mirror reflecting my worth. Without hesitation, I dropped it in the bin.
Eight months later, *Green Canopy* buzzed with life. My techgrowing premium greens in urban spaceswas a hit. High-end restaurants queued for contracts.
Meanwhile, Jamess world collapsed. His would-be father-in-law saw through him, withdrew funding. Without me handling the books, his firm unravelled.
He learned of my success by chance. *She should be weeping in some bedsit,* hed thought. Instead, Id thrived*without him.* So he struck where it hurt most.
Tom summoned me that evening, grim. Your ex phoned. Ranted about *Green Canopy* being a fraud. Sent these. He slid over falsified bank statements.
The air thickened. He was targeting the last thing I had: my familys trust.
Did you believe him?
Im not a fool, Em. But he wont stop. Hell tarnish us.
I exhaled. Enough defence. Time to act.
Tom, your firms security teamI need their best tech specialist. An old hunch to check.
He studied me, seeing something new: steely resolve.
Whats the plan?
Me? A faint smile. I recall my hobby is a tech business. Time to apply those skills beyond farming.
My hunch was right. James hadnt drowned in crypto debts alone. Secret calls, whispers of guaranteed returnsPonzi schemes. The specialist delivered proof: sham investment sites, stolen crypto, duped investorsincluding his almost father-in-laws circle.
I didnt go to the police. Through Tom, the evidence leaked to the right people. The fallout was swift. James wasnt jailedjust ruined. Forced to sell everything. The girlfriend vanished.
A year later, I spotted him at a bus stop, shoulders hunched against the wind. My electric carsleek, silentpulled up. I stepped out, phone to ear, smiling. Didnt see him. To me, he was just background noise.
As the car glided away, it hit him: hed thought hed freed *her*. In truth, hed freed her *from him*the greatest gift hed ever given.
The bus arrived. He didnt move. For the first time, he tasted the terror of his own irrelevance.
Two years on, *Green Canopy* expanded to Europe. At Heathrow, scrolling news, I glimpsed a familiar name: his exs father was hosting a society wedding. In the crowd, a blurry figureJames, in a valets uniform.
I stared. Felt nothing. He was a ghost, a smudge on a lens. I closed the tab.
Later, Tom called. Hows the German venture?
Solid. Well conquer it yet. I paused. Ever regret backing my hobby?
Regret? Only that I didnt drag you away from that wanker sooner. Youve always been this. He was just a roadblock.
Not a roadblock, I murmured. A distorted mirror. I had to smash it to see myself again.
Revenge wasnt his ruin. It was the day I stopped thinking of him at all. Freedom wasnt his fallit was my wings.
